Get Your Premium Membership

Nation of Warriors

A descendant of Crazy Horse My blood was derived from his name I am part of a wild band of Oglala Lakota Who refuse to be tamed Our teachings, older than this country And wiser than its leaders We are and always have been Natural creation teachers We have ancestors in every direction Who guide our way And we follow a wound to heal Like a scab after decay Many times over Our people were met with gun and force In order for others to profit and gain Without remorse Yet in times where it seems “Indians” No longer exist We carry out the fight forward And continue to resist Attempting to distort our identity By maiming us out And creating desolate reservation lines That fill us with doubt Suicide rates Are higher than the national average Yet no one cares Because it’s a “red skin savage” The irony of being First Nations People Is being last Is how far from “first” you’ve been cast But since my blood is being measured I’m considered less than half Half of what? A false definition Because they only way you can measure Pride is in repetition We lived through the western films That praised the white man and killed the red We survived passed the many treaties In which dishonesty bled Your Fear Yet we are still here. Descendants of Crazy Horse do not Easily demise Because there is Crazy Horse blood Running inside Pride.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.

Please Login to post a comment

Date: 1/19/2018 3:38:00 PM
Miss Izzy: I can mourn your ancestors losses but less than 60 miles from my home, a tribe has found a way to get the "white man's" stash. :o) They have a "very profitable" casino that reaps the tribe "millions". Thanks for sharing this bit of yourself with all of us on the soup. oldbuck
Login to Reply